Before The Thunder
by wolstroh
Summary: Batman tries, tries really, really hard. But he is chained to the bomb and he can't do anything. Just hold onto world's greatest maniac and not let him go. There is nothing else to be done, he's finished.


_Ten minutes._

Batman tries, tries really, _really_ hard. But he is chained to the bomb and he can't do anything. Just hold onto world's greatest maniac and not let him go. There is nothing else to be done, he's finished.

"What in the heavens do you think you're doing!?" The Joker is angry, _very_angry. He bites, swears, and fights and Batman fights back.

"If I go down, I'll drag you with me, Joker," he growls, clutching at The Joker hard, nearly breaking the bone, clutching to the point of bruising.

The Joker laughs sharply, licking the blood from his split lip.

"And they say _I_ am bloodthirsty", he grins madly at Batman, his green eyes sparkle with dangerous amusement. "But, honestly, you were always the one dressing like Dracula's son, Batty-boy."

Batman frowns. "This isn't about bloodthirst. I _can't_ leave you here. I _can't_ let you _murder_ innocent people."

The Joker's hysterical laughter cuts Batman off. "Ah, _really_? But, ya see, Bat-brain, it worked positively _perfect_ for us all this who-the-hell-knows-how-many years. Hey, buddy, what changed? As I can see, the only difference is that right at the moment you are chained to the giant piece of TNT and whatsoever's in it and you suddenly can't find a way out."

His every word is dripping with sarcasm.

_Eight._

"Shut up," Batman spits in a dark voice.

The Joker smiles dangerously.

"Oh no, _my sweet_, I won't. It's the time for you to finally realize that there's something more than just a river in Egypt." The Joker slowly leans in, gazing Batman in the eyes. "Tell me, Batman, how much do you want to kill me? Very much indeed, huh? And how many times did you have an appropriate cause to do so? I'd like to believe that _a lot_, but let's be honest: mostly they were not _enough_ for you. You always need something_special_to excuse yourself, something utter, something _ideal_. (There's nothing wrong with that, really. It is only your _denial_ that disgusts me.) Death of a little bird was special, no doubt, but not _that_ big. Same thing with other nasty stuff I did. Though, _now_ it's very different. You are going to _die_, no jokes or fancy bat-gadgets to save the day. Nobody will _ever_ blame you for saving the world from the most dangerous homicidal madman that I proudly am (heck, they will even make quite a drama out of your heroic death!). And _that_ certainly is the _best_ excuse for your uncontrollable anger to _explode_. Am I right?"

When Batman punches him in the face, and then time and time again, The Joker just laughs hard, till tears are streaming down his cheeks, melting with blood.

"You're wrong," Batman repeats and repeats and repeats and hits with all his strength, all over again.

_Five._

"Did I say something about _anger_ issues?" The Joker chuckles, nearly suffocating, blowing blood bubbles from his nose.

Batman is extremely tired; his gloves and the bat-symbol on his chest are covered in bright crimson.

"Run," he says, breathless, "run for your life."

The Joker is now absolutely quiet; he leans towards the bomb because he cannot himself stand.

"What?" he asks softly, with a puzzled expression on his face (alongside with blood).

"Run," Batman simply repeats.

The silence between them is dead and long. And there's so much regret because time is running out so fast and they can't even say the things they need and want to.

"Why?"

The Joker looks so lost that Batman almost wants to laugh. _Almost_.

"Because you're wrong. And I'll prove it to you," his voice is husky and calm.

The Joker mops his face with the sleeve of his purple jacket and smiles widely. Then he giggles and looks at Batman with something near to tenderness or affection, his eyes pure and deep.

"You _are_ sweet, aren't you?"

_Three._

The Joker moves closer to Batman.

"But you know what, Bats? I think I'll stay. Actually, it's kinda nice here and besides, you obviously need a company. Dying all sad and lonely is not what I had for both of us."

He grins.

"Well, what a terrible shame! Our miserable world loses its two most brilliant minds at once!" The Joker sighs loudly, staring at Batman in mocking regret, smiling. "But let's look on the bright side of life, Bats: your greatest dream is coming true and you don't even need to dirty your hands! Isn't that wonderful?"

The Joker's grin is wide and sick, and Batman so wants to punch him in the face once more, to hurt, badly, but he just can't and feels unbearably nauseous.

"Why?" Batman manages to ask, though his tongue is dry and mouth feels like Sahara. And he is certainly not sure if he actually wants to know the answer. "To prove me wrong instead?"

The look on The Joker's pale face is incredulous. He is not smiling, at all, and is as serious as ever. Staring hard, The Joker grabs Batman's hand, squeezes it (_and Batman wants to shrink badly but he can't and he won't and dear god Joker is so warm_) and then, finally, the corners of his thin ruby lips are pulling up slightly, implying some kind of a sincere smile.

"Because, darling, I don't need a world without you," The Joker confidently proclaims, and his words sound like the very simple truth on which the life itself is based.

_A minute and a half._

Batman's white eyes are wide open with surprise. Because never, not in any way he expects The Joker to be genuine, even a tiny bit. But, really, he never expects something from The Joker, who is "dangerous and totally unpredictable", as he has always said.

The Joker smiles and it seems the time has frozen as their fingers are tangled together and their hands are so very-very hot against each other, and it feels like everything's burning on the inside. But at the same moment it feels anyhow but right. Like it _should_ be, should have _always_ been.

Batman grits his teeth, fingers grasping The Joker's palm. Every _tick_ and _tock_ is tearing him apart, but The Joker's here, beside him like all these long twenty years, and it's terribly comforting, maybe even too much. Batman wonders if he can accept it so easily because this is the grand finale or maybe there's another reason that he will never want to understand. It all suddenly seems so uncertain, like the world is falling apart with him, with The Joker, even with the goddamn bomb. He is not sure. He feels dizzy and exhausted and so, so _tired_.

_Thirty seconds._

They stare at each other almost _hungrily_. Because the place is a desert and there's really nothing more to look at. Or just because. Because they have always shared this gaze.

And they are standing still opposite, holding hands. There's no more good, no evil, no regret - _and maybe never even was, maybe it was just them, all the time_. Their handshake grows tighter with each and every second, it somehow tastes like despair or satisfaction or simply both.

_Twenty._

The Joker's smile is once again gone; it looks like he is almost _pouting_. It's ending not in a way he so often imagined; no city in flames, no ultimate punch line, no Batman, finally getting his _one and_ _only_ internal joke about the brilliantly pure meaningless of everything. Or even just no Batman. The world is so utterly _unworthy_ without him.

The Joker nearly thinks of how incredibly unfair the whole thing is and he wants to laugh badly.

_Ten._

"I'll miss you," The Joker says with a faint smile. His voice is painfully soft, calm.

And before the time runs out, Batman exhales (_because there is no more point in denial or there is just no point at all_): "Me, too".

Their hands are pressed tight, almost _melting_.

_Boom._


End file.
